


Little Star

by benji_writes



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Bucky Barnes Has Panic Attacks, F/M, Fluff and Angst, Implied/Referenced Sexual Assault, Panic Attacks
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-21
Updated: 2020-02-21
Packaged: 2021-02-28 02:14:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,803
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22836100
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/benji_writes/pseuds/benji_writes
Summary: You and Bucky find it’s easier to breathe when you’re together.
Relationships: James "Bucky" Barnes/Reader
Comments: 2
Kudos: 42





	Little Star

It’s never pretty. The harsh recovery from battle. It’s leaving one war behind for another – the fight always follows you home. You look over your shoulder in CVS. You’re afraid, and ready at a moments notice to face a threat that isn’t there anymore. You can’t shake the feeling. In the produce section of the grocery store, someone bumps into you, and suddenly you’re trying to hide the fact that you’re having a panic attack in front of the oranges. You turn to look for someone who’s not there. There’s no one to hurt you anymore, but there’s no one to help either. 

You met Bucky on accident. You were on your way home when two men stumbled out of a bar, drunk, and laughing too loud. They were tall. Their words were lewd, and they were walking toward you. You felt one of their eyes on you. Their gaze on your body as if it was theirs to gawk freely at. On instinct you stopped dead in your tracks. He had already looked away, but it still felt like he was staring. 

He wasn’t going to hurt you or anything like that, he and his friend simply walked past you, stumbling home now that they’d had their fill of sports tv and alcohol. But you couldn’t help but freeze on the spot, just waiting for it to happen. Long after they’d walked past you, you remained still – certain that he would turn around and come for you. Your jaw was clenched so tight you thought you might grind your own teeth down. There was no danger for you here, but you weren’t really here anymore. You were there. 

Your breaths were heavy, eyes glazed over. You could hear your own heartbeat. That was how he found you. On his nightly walk, he saw you there, alone on the sidewalk standing stark still. He recognized that look. He understood the tightness of your jaw, the breaths that never seemed deep enough. He didn’t want to scare you, so he kept his distance, but moved into your line of vision. He didn’t know you, or where you’d gone, buried in your own trauma somewhere. But he knew he could do for you what Natasha had once done for him. 

Making sure he was far enough away not to frighten you, but close enough that you’d be able to hear him, he began to sing, “Twinkle, twinkle, little star. How I wonder what you are. Up above the world so high, like a diamond in the sky. Twinkle, twinkle, little star, how I wonder what you are.”

He wasn’t a very good singer, but could keep tune well enough. You hadn’t even noticed him yet. So he sang it again. The fourth time, it was like the melody had finally reached you. He saw your jaw begin to soften, your eyebrows furrowed in confusion. He sang it again. This time, you looked at him, eyes curious but cautious. Not quite afraid, but definitely unsure. When he finished that time, he didn’t continue. Instead he said, “Can you sing with me?”

You looked at him longer, as if really seeing him now, and said, “What?” 

So he repeated, “Can you sing with me?”

You were clearly confused, but he could tell you weren’t thinking about whatever it was you had been before. He waited patiently, and eventually you said, “I suppose.”

“Good,” he said. “Now ready? One, two, three.”

You watched him sing by himself for a moment, but joined him about half way through. When you finished he said, “Good job. Can you do it again?”

You nodded this time, and sang with him the whole verse. When you finished he said, “Better?” 

You nodded again, kind of amazed, “How did you… um… how did you know? How did you, um, know to do that?” 

He shrugged, “I had a friend do it for me once. When I’m lucid enough, I do it for myself now. When I need to come back.”

You just stood there, “Thank you.”

Your voice rang with such sincerity, he felt his throat begin to tighten, “It’s no bother, miss. Are you alright to get home? Do you want me to get you a cab?”

You just shook your head, “No. No I’m alright, I don’t live far.”

He wanted to offer to walk you home. If times were different, he would have without question. But you were vulnerable, and probably didn’t want a strange man to know where you lived. So instead he offered this, “Get home safe please. I don’t live far either, and I go for a walk around here every night. So if you ever need someone, just come looking. I start at the fountain in the park at about eight, so if you ever just want to walk with someone who understands, you can meet me there.” 

You felt your chin wobble. It was the first kind thing a man had ever offered you, and there was nothing you could do to stop the tears that ran down your face. You wanted to hug him, but you were so afraid. 

“Thank you,” you said. “Thank you, so much.” 

You didn’t even wait to hear what he said, but you saw the look of distress cross his face as you rushed past him, heading home. 

— 

You thought about him every day. His baby blue eyes, and the soft wave of his long brown hair. He was so big, but he wasn’t scary. It was like he knew how to make himself small. You were both grateful it made him less threatening, and distraught for him personally. You understood what it felt like to be afraid of taking up space. 

It was the following Friday that you went to see him. He was sitting on the edge of the fountain when you got there, almost like he was waiting for you. Hoping maybe that you’d show up. It was 8:05 when you walked over and sat down with him. 

He looked over at you and smiled, and you gave him a shy smile back, but neither of you said anything. You just sat there, arms wrapped around yourself, sitting probably a foot away from him. He sat too, in no rush, just watching the people go by. Maybe ten minutes had passed before he said, “Would you like to go for a walk? If not, we could just sit here if that’s better.” 

You couldn’t believe he’d asked what you wanted. You were so unfamiliar with consideration. As if testing to see if he was really the kind of man you’d hoped, you said, “Is it alright if we just sit here a while longer?”

“Of course,” he replied instantly. No sign of hesitation, or upset with your decision. 

And so you two sat a while longer. You watched the water come up and down. Felt yourself relax at the sound of its steady rhythm. It sounded like rain as the water that shot up finally hit the pool below. 

Curious, and almost comfortable, you asked, “What’s your name?”

“I’m Bucky,” he said.

Automatically you replied, “That’s a good name.”

He chuckled, and looked down. His foot moved back and forth, and you recognized that anxious tick. He said, “Thanks, my real name’s James, but everyone I like calls me Bucky.”

You liked the way that sounded, “Well, Bucky. I’m Y/N.” 

He looked back over at you, to find you still looking at him, and you watched his feet move back and forth again, “Nice to meet you, Y/N.” 

You couldn’t help the feeling that spread in your chest. It was so unfamiliar. Sweet, like when you pick the plumpest blueberry off the bush and pop it right in your mouth. That shiver that goes down your spine when the waves come up to shore and just tickle your toes. Warm, like the first sip of hot cocoa on Christmas morning. You thought this must be hope.

“It’s nice to meet you too, Bucky.” Your smile was real, and bright. Bucky thought it was so beautiful.

— 

You saw Bucky every day after that. You would meet at the fountain, and sit, and watch the people go by. Watch the leaves fall off the trees as the wind blew them past the streetlights. You grew more and more comfortable with Bucky every day. You began to sit closer. And eventually, you trusted him enough to walk with you. You mostly walked his usual route, which he adjusted only slightly so you two would stay on brightly lit streets. He never tried to touch you. The most he ever did was give you his elbow, so you could walk close to him on the streets. You were surprised to realize you felt safer this way. You trusted him to keep you safe. Alone in your room that night, you cried for an hour over that. With Bucky you felt _safe_. 

The first time you saw Bucky have a panic attack, you didn’t know what set him off. Much like yourself, one minute he was fine, and the next he wasn’t. You were sharing a bag of pretzels and two Mountain Dews while sitting at the fountain, when all of a sudden, it was like you weren’t there anymore, and neither was he. He didn’t get up. He didn’t move. He just stopped with his ungloved hand in the bag. He stared, eyes glazed over. You recognized that look. You gave him a minute, and then you did for him as he had done for you. 

“Twinkle, twinkle, little star. How I wonder what you are. Up above the world so high. Like a diamond in the sky. Twinkle, twinkle, little star, how I wonder what you are.”

You repeated it seven times before he tuned in. He finally looked at you, and you could see he was crying. He took his hand out of the bag of pretzels, and reached over for yours. He squeezed so tight, and you squeezed right back. You placed your other hand on top of the one that was holding yours and said as gently as possible, “Can you sing with me?” 

“Yes,” he whispered so quietly you wouldn’t even have heard if you weren’t sitting so close together.

“Good,” you said. “That’s good, Buck. Ready, now? One, two, three.” 

You sang the song together three times before Bucky really came back. His breaths were shaky, but he was with you again. You couldn’t help yourself when you reached up to cup his face. You wiped the tears away with your thumbs.

“There, now. You can breathe easy. I’m here, Bucky.” 

With that he started to cry again, and you pushed the hair out of his face so it would stop sticking to his cheeks. You took the elastic off your wrist, and tied his hair back for him. He fell into you, and you were grateful that the cold had kept most people away from the park that night. He wept into your shoulder, and you held him. He, too, had known so little kindness in his life. To be reassured by someone as soft and gentle as you was enough to do him in completely. He cried and cried, and you didn’t let go for anything. Nothing would hurt him here. Not here. Not with you. You were going to make sure of it. 

When his cries became quieter, and lessened more and more before halting completely, he pulled back. He wiped his face, and looked at you. He cupped your cheek, as you had done to him, and pulled your head down to kiss your forehead. Your eyes fell closed. 

When he moved back to look at you, he didn’t say anything, but you understood. With sudden conviction, you said, “Come on, Buck. Time to go.” 

He didn’t know where you were taking him, but in that moment he knew he would follow you anywhere. You picked the discarded glove up from next to the bag of pretzels, took his hand, and put it on him. He stood there sniffling softly, not enough energy to try and stop, and waited. You picked up the mostly empty bag of pretzels and threw it away, placing the bottles in the recycling. When you walked back over, you took his hand, and led him out of the park. He thought you might be an angel, and he wasn’t sure how he got so lucky as to meet someone as divine as you. 

You led him down streets the two of you had never walked before. It wasn’t long before you entered a residential neighborhood, and led him up the stairs and into your building. You walked up to the second floor, and in the ultimate form of trust, you brought him into your home. 

He instantly loved it there. There were candles, and flowers on all your tables and shelves. You had blankets over the couch, and on every chair. The lights were soft, but warm, and when you lead him over to sit on the couch he thought he might sink into it and never come out. Everything smelled like you. After you sat him down, you helped him take off his coat, so he was just in a long sleeved red shirt. You reached for his hand and took off one glove, then reached for the other. You heard his breath come out shaky, but he didn’t try to stop you. That was when you learned that Bucky had a prosthetic arm. You could see his chest rising and falling, deep and heavy. He was so afraid of what you might think. You lifted his metal hand in yours and kissed his palm. 

“Wait here,” you told him, and you heard the air rush out of his body in relief. 

You went to the kitchen, took the apple cider out of your fridge, and heated it up on the stove. You poured it into two mugs and walked back over to the couch. You put yours on the coffee table, and held out his for him to take. 

“Careful, now. Take small sips.” You cautioned, and he listened because he trusted you.

You picked up the remote and put on something easy. Animal Planet played quietly in the background, and you and Bucky sat close on the couch, sipping on cider. You fell asleep like that. On the couch, with Treehouse Masters on in the background. It was right. It was safe. 

The next morning you woke up near dawn, soft sunlight peaking into the windows. You were half on top of Bucky, and amazed that you had met a man you were unafraid to be near. He was playing with your hair, and you relished in the knowledge that you were being cared for. He was looking at you like the world could be burning around him and he wouldn’t even know. You were the only thing he could see. 

His voice was rough when he spoke, “Thank you.”

You shook your head, “Don’t thank me.”

A while passed before you asked, “Are you ready to talk?”

“Are you?” He asked, eyes boring into yours. The weight of the question burned through you both.

“You know, Bucky. I am. I am, if you are, of course.” The last part came out much softer than the first.

“Yeah. Yeah, I think I’m ready.”

That morning you and Bucky finally learned where the other went. Your eyes stung, and you wanted to scream. You wanted to break something. How could they have done that to him? To him of all people? How dare they? How dare they use him like that? You knew it was a horrible, terrible thing, but you wished they’d done it to anyone else. Anyone but your Bucky. 

He started crying again when you told him. Wanted to scream, and scream, and kill. He swore no one would touch you like that again. No one would put their hands on you without permission and he made a solemn vow that he would be there to stop anyone who tried. No one would hurt you like that. Not ever again. 

It made sense now. Why you both sang to each other. Why even though your wars were different, you both understood what coming home from battle felt like. You held each other all morning. You understood that it wouldn’t be easy for either of you. It was going to be really hard, and sometimes the singing wasn’t going to help. But now, when you had a panic attack next to the oranges, someone would be there with you. You had found someone who would stay, and it was all either of you could have ever asked for


End file.
